I spent a lot of time in a sink very similar to the one above for many
years. The stainless steel pot sink at IAWAH is a pretty sacred place.
Many have scrubbed there - many have failed - and many have
felt the sweet sting of a scrub-sweat in that place. Although screams
of good times were happening just feet away from you, and the
fields never looked greener and the lake never bluer, you had to
keep scrubbing. The kitchen staff (featuring a very irate but hilarious
Newfie chef) would show up and curse you out for not being done
or for being too slow or for not having ready what they needed
ready.
I loved the pot sink.
It was a place where I could turn everything off and just focus on
my own concerns while scrubbing away endless layers of stainless
steel, oatmeal, chicken & bacon grease, deep and quantified burn
marks, and what have you. At times, due to overload, the pots
and pans would actually come out dirtier due to greasy water.
This only meant that your job was botched and that you needed
to drain the sink and start again.
Food smells ruminated into a sweaty mess of garlic, salt, cake
mix and disgust that would intrude your pores and clothes like a
bad dumpster. The heat was enough to make you pass out as
you scrubbed for hours on end on the burnt cookie sheet that
didn't have a liner for those burnt drumsticks.
A friend of mine lost his wedding ring down the drain of that pot
sink - never to be found again.
Wash, Rinse, Sanitize.
A perfect trinity.
I feel like I'm starting to shut out things in my life. I'm getting to
an age where you have to make action - or else action passes you
by. And sometimes, in order to make that action, you have to
make compartments - and some people and places get shut out.
In your twenties, the world is your oyster and opportunity is
your friend. In your thirties, the world is a mess and opportunity
is a dangling carrot that you need to grab or discard. Bitter.
Crunchy. Orange.
Get your sink on.
